


Polyjuice

by yosaffbridge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, M/M, Polyjuice Potion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 06:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20253499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yosaffbridge/pseuds/yosaffbridge
Summary: Harry gives Draco a challenge he can't refuse, and neither of them can predict what exactly it is they're in for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the only fic I've written with multiple chapters. Another one written years ago, this started out as a drabble for a friend who then wanted to know more of the story, and it turned into four parts plus an epilogue.

Harry never knows when to expect it. He’ll be walking along, minding his own business, when someone will push him into a nearby broom closet or yank him into an empty classroom. It’s getting to the point where every time someone looks at him strangely, he expects them to pounce at any moment. It is beginning to make him paranoid—but in a good way. A very good way.

It had started out simply enough—Harry had dared Draco to do something that would completely shock him, instead of being so predictable all the time with his standard insults and weak jokes. Draco had accepted the challenge, but a week later nothing had happened and Harry figured he’d backed out, as was typical of him.

That was Monday. Tuesday he was pulled into a cloak room by a very determined-looking Hermione, who proceeded to shove his back into the wall and crush her mouth to his in a bruising kiss. Harry was just about to ask Hermione what the sod she was on about when he noticed that she was wearing Slytherin robes, and they were rather large on her. He’d just managed a strangled “Malfoy?” when the Polyjuice potion wore off, and suddenly there were buttons and zippers and then Draco’s mouth was around Harry’s cock and all Harry could think was I know this is completely wrong but I don’t want it to stop.

When they left the room, after checking to see that the coast was clear and walking off in opposite directions, Harry figured that’d be the last of it, that Draco’d had his way with him and now things would go back to normal. That sorely disappointed Harry, but he didn’t quite understand why. All he knew was that what Draco had done to him had been the single most arousing experience of his life, and he wanted badly to return the favour.

~

Two weeks later, Harry is walking down a torch-lit corridor when he is suddenly grabbed by the arm and jerked into an unused classroom by, to his irritation, Zacharias Smith. 

“What-“

His annoyed question is abruptly cut off as Smith covers Harry’s mouth with his own, backing him up against a wall. Harry is stunned at first, but begins to respond, closing his eyes, as the mouth pressed against his begins to feel oddly familiar.

“What the-“

“Shut up, Potter, and strip,” interrupts a drawling voice. Harry’s eyes spring open, and a slow grin spreads across his face as green eyes meet gray. He flies out of his clothes, tearing at them in an effort to get them off more quickly. Draco, on the other hand, takes his time, meticulously removing each article and placing it neatly in a stack on a nearby desk. Harry stands, naked and freezing, waiting for Draco for what seems like an eternity. Finally, he turns to Harry with a wicked grin.

“My turn,” he says, and Harry is on his knees in front of him, completely unsure of what to do but somehow very sure that Draco will be more than happy to teach him. His first taste of Draco sends unexpected waves of arousal rocketing through him, and he soon learns that not only is he merely giving pleasure, he’s receiving it too.

Three unbearable weeks pass before Harry is pushed into a rather spacious broom closet on the fourth floor by Anthony Goldstein and once again ordered to strip in Draco’s singular drawl just before the Polyjuice melts away to reveal the white-blonde object of Harry’s seemingly boundless lust. Removing the last of his clothing, he jokingly asks, “So are we taking a turn with all the houses, then?” 

Draco laughs, then comes up behind Harry, his mouth so close to Harry’s ear he can feel the soft tickle of his lips. “Brace yourself,” he whispers, and Harry barely has enough time to lean forward and prop his hands against the wall before he feels something warm and slick sliding just barely inside him. A sharp intake of air, and then Harry is seeing stars as Draco enters him, hard and fast. He bites his lip, willing himself not to cry out as Draco thrusts, when suddenly he realises that the pain is not really actual pain but instead is much more like ohgodyesyesfuckyes, and he bucks his hips backwards, silently willing Draco to go harder, faster, more. They part ways in silence, as usual, and all the way back to the Gryffindor common room Harry is wishing with all his might that Draco won’t make him wait so long this time to let Harry be the giver once again.

A mere week later, Harry’s wish is granted when Tracey Davis happens upon him alone in a 7th floor corridor and leads him to a nearby classroom. Harry knows he’s getting to Draco as much as Draco is getting to him when he’s pushed back into the wall and kissed so desperately he nearly becomes dizzy. Harry knows what awaits him this time as Draco leads him over to a window seat, long blonde hair gradually becoming shorter and petite body changing to tall and lean.

Draco sits on the window seat, facing Harry, and pulls Harry to him, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist. He mutters an incantation, making his fingers instantly slick, and coats Harry with the substance. Harry looks at Draco, nervous, wanting badly to get it right, and Draco reaches up to pull him down by the back of the neck, whispering, “Do it, Potter. And make it rough.”

Another searing kiss, and Harry straightens slightly, guiding himself into Draco just a little. No more than a second goes by before Draco lets out a low growl and lifts his hips, burying Harry inside him, and suddenly ohgodyesyesfuckyes turns into GOODFUCKINGGODYESOHYESFUCKYES as he slams into Draco, over and over. He cries out as he comes, his legs like water and his head spinning, and Draco releases a moment later, tightening his legs around Harry’s waist and throwing his head back in ecstasy.

This time, after they’re dressed again and ready to part in their usual way, Draco stops Harry and cups his face with both hands, giving him a lingering kiss. He pulls away, and Harry thinks he’s about to say something, but instead he reaches around to cup Harry’s arse, pulling Harry against him, and Harry can feel that he’s once again fully aroused. Draco’s mouth smashes against Harry’s and his arms snake around him, pulling him as close as possible. Unsure of what’s bringing this on but knowing he likes it quite a bit, Harry returns the kiss eagerly, threading his hands in Draco’s hair, humming contentedly into his mouth, tangling their tongues together. Then Draco pulls away and walks out, turning once to look back at Harry, fists clenched as though he’s fighting with all his strength to keep from running back and claiming Harry’s mouth once again. Puzzled, but still basking in the afterglow, Harry returns to his common room and dreams that night of silver-blonde hair and a beautiful, Quidditch-toned body.

~

It’s been two months and Draco hasn’t spoken a word to Harry, nor accosted him under the guise of some random student. Harry is almost frantic, wanting to know why Draco’s making him wait so long this time, but unable to utter a word to anyone about his desperation. Draco isn’t even bothering to confront Harry in the halls anymore to taunt him about Potions or Mudbloods or anything at all, for that matter. One morning, when Harry’s bag splits, spilling its contents everywhere, and Draco walks by without so much as a sideways glance, Harry decides he’s had enough with the torture and begins to look for an opportunity to get Draco alone.

Two days later, he is studying the Marauder’s Map and sees the dot labeled Draco Malfoy alone and pacing in an unused classroom on the top floor. Careful not to wake Ron or any of his other dormmates, Harry grabs his invisibility cloak and the Map and takes off for the classroom. Once there, he opens the door and strides in, catching the sight of Draco sitting atop a desk with his head resting in his hands, before throwing off the invisibility cloak and blurting out, “What the fuck is going on, Malfoy?”

Draco’s head snaps up at the sound of Harry’s voice, and a look of pure despair and misery crosses his face fleetingly before being replaced by his customary sneer. “What do you want, Potter? Out looking to see what other rules you can get away with breaking?”

Harry is at once furious and perplexed. He frowns, studying Draco’s face, seeing none of the desire there that he’d grown to adore. “What are you on about? It’s been two months, Malfoy. Two months. Are you trying to torture me on purpose? Is this your new form of fun?”

Draco looks away, sneer faltering just slightly, and says nothing. Harry huffs, impatient. “Well? Answer me, damn you!”

Draco’s hands clench into fists briefly. “You want an answer? Fine. Here’s your fucking answer.” He hops off the desk and strides over to Harry, then pushes up the left sleeve of his robes, exposing his forearm. “Here’s your fucking answer,” he spits out again, before brushing past Harry and storming out the door, slamming it shut as Harry falls to his knees on the cold stone beneath him.


	2. Polyjuice Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's always known this was his destiny...but things have changed for him, things he can't ignore.

The slamming of the door echoes in Harry’s ears as he crumples to the ground. Draco’s words replay over and over in his mind as he kneels, frozen, unable to move. Here’s your fucking answer. Silent tears begin to trickle down his cheeks, though he is unaware of them. He wonders if Draco is laughing at him now, having completely fucked Harry in more ways than one, succeeding in humiliating him in the worst way possible. He can hardly comprehend why he’s so devastated over something that started out as a dare, a game. He doesn’t even know when the change happened. He only knows that his feelings for Draco have turned 180 degrees, and now that Draco is lost to him he can see that clearly, displayed to him through the pain he now feels. He leans forward, resting his forehead on the cold stone floor, and squeezes his eyes shut against a fresh onslaught of tears.

Barely a shout away, Draco is striding angrily down the corridor, his hands clenched into fists. He doesn’t slow down until he reaches the Head Boy’s quarters, where he grits out his password and slams the door behind him with a resounding bang. Frustration and sorrow manifest themselves in the form of pure rage, and Reductor curses fly as he destroys his room, blowing anything that catches his eye to smithereens. Who bloody cares, he thinks, obliterating an innocent footstool. My father can buy- He stops cold at the thought that jumps into his head automatically, almost as if by habit. His father. His father, who buys him whatever he wants without a second thought. His father, who provides for his every need and sees that he is treated as a Malfoy heir deserves to be. His father, who has taken away the one thing he grew up despising but now knows he can’t live without. Draco drops his wand as though it’s burned his hand and backs into a corner, sliding down the wall until he’s sitting on the ground. He draws his knees up to his chest and lays his forehead down on them, wrapping his arms around his legs, and remains there until morning, the image of Potter’s shocked and hurt expression burned into his brain.

~

Two months earlier

Wednesday morning, Draco sat in the Great Hall, picking at his eggs and only half listening to whatever Blaise was telling him. His thoughts were preoccupied with what he had planned for the weekend. It would only make it a week since the last time, but he didn’t really care. He only knew that what had started out as a game had turned into something infinitely more serious, and he knew that the feeling was mutual. He dared a glance across the hall at the Gryffindor table, to where he knew Potter always sat. He was there, black hair characteristically mussed, laughing at something Weasley had just said. Draco clenched his fists under the table, fighting down the urge to go over to Potter, drag him out of the hall and into the nearest broom closet, and take him right then and there. As though he could read his thoughts, Potter glanced over and caught Draco’s eye. Even from across the hall, there was no mistaking the look in Potter’s eyes. It was fleeting, but it was there, and Draco raised an eyebrow before looking away, satisfied.

The satisfaction didn’t last for long, however, as he caught sight of a familiar eagle owl making its way to him. It dropped a letter as it passed and Draco reached up and caught it, already knowing who it was from. He made his excuses and stood, making his way a short distance from the Great Hall to a little-used corridor where he could read the note in private.

My son,

The time has come for you to take your rightful place beside me in His circle. You are seventeen and a man, and though you still have time left at school, He is impressed with you and wishes to induct you now, that you may begin our noble work as soon as possible.

The enclosed Portkey will activate precisely at eleven o’clock Saturday night and will transport you to the pre-arranged location. I look forward to seeing you there.

Your father

p.s. I don’t think I need remind you of the need for Incendio once this is read.

Draco tilted the envelope, and out tumbled a sizeable gold ring stamped with the Malfoy crest, similar to the one he already wore. He slipped the ring on his right hand, pausing for a moment as it sized itself to his finger, and incinerated the letter before turning around and heading out of the corridor towards Potions class.

Outwardly, he seemed no different than usual: haughty sneer, purposeful stride, and polished demeanor. Inside, however, it was a different picture entirely. As he calmly copied down the ingredients for the day’s potion, a war was being waged inside his heart. His feelings of loyalty to his father and the Malfoy name fought against his growing need for The Boy Who Should Have Been His Enemy. He went through the motions of brewing his potion, his mind too preoccupied to concentrate fully on the task at hand. He didn’t really care at that point – he knew he was much better at Potions than people gave him credit for, and besides, Snape would give him full marks even if his potion turned out horribly.

The moment the bell rang, signaling the start of a free period for Draco, he strode out of the dungeon and headed directly for his quarters, tossing his rucksack on a chair and letting out a yell of frustration. He’d known it was only a matter of time before he got that letter from his father, and up until recently, he would have been quite happy at the sight of it. Up until recently, he’d been ready and willing to join his father and the other Death Eaters in serving the Dark Lord. It was his destiny. It was what his parents had been grooming him for since he was a small child and his father began telling him stories of the glorious He Who Must Not Be Named and the work he would need their help to continue once he made his inevitable return. He knew he was duty-bound to answer that call, and there would be hell to pay if he showed any sign of reluctance.

That was before the dare. Before Potter had had the gall to actually dare Draco to shock him, to do something he’d never expect. The idea was easy to come up with—he already had the Polyjuice, since his father liked the family to have an ample supply “just in case”. All he needed were the hairs of those he’d be impersonating. It was all about humiliation and in no way whatsoever about physical desire or attraction. He’d come up with the perfect way to put Potter in his place, and as long as he closed his eyes and pictured someone else, he might get a little something out of the deal as well.

The first two encounters went exactly as Draco had anticipated. He had Potter right where he wanted him: needy and vulnerable. Then one evening he was adding Goldstein’s hair to a dose of the Polyjuice when he suddenly realized he was actually looking forward to that night’s meeting. Draco was going to fuck Potter, and not only that, he wanted to fuck Potter, so much he could taste it. To his horror, he thought back on the past three weeks and remembered all the times he’d been thinking eagerly of that night, the night he’d take Potter and show him exactly what pure ecstasy was. When he did just that, coming inside Potter with a low growl, he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out his name, the desire he felt for Potter growing beyond measure.

The sound of the bell jarred Draco back to the present, and he was suddenly aware he was standing in the middle of his room, staring angrily into the mirror on his wall. He hated his name at that moment. He despised the expectations that had been laid out for him, the privileged upbringing he’d been so accustomed to, the assumption from both his parents that he’d live up to the Malfoy name in every way. Yet he also knew it would be impossible to turn his back on those things, the ideals he’d held tightly to for as long as he could remember. There would be no end to the suffering he would endure were he to defy his father in this way. There would be nowhere he could run from the wrath of Lucius Malfoy if he, his only son, were to openly reject his family legacy. So he made the only choice he could.

As he kissed Potter for the last time on Saturday evening, pouring every ounce of feeling he possibly could into the embrace, not caring that he was making himself vulnerable by showing the depth of his need for Potter, Draco’s heart silently cracked. As he walked away, looking back only once, using every ounce of his strength to prevent himself from turning back and claiming Potter once again, it shattered. Back in his room, Draco sat on the bed, numb, and waited for the inevitable.


	3. Polyjuice Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Draco faces the inevitable, Harry wonders how this all happened.

As the grandfather clock in his room chimed for the eleventh time, Draco felt the familiar tug behind his navel and suddenly he was tumbling to the ground in the middle of what looked to be the Forbidden Forest. He picked himself up quickly and brushed himself off, knowing his father would want him looking impeccable for his first meeting with the Dark Lord. Draco shivered involuntarily at the thought. He was about to come face to face with the one his father had served faithfully for years, the one he’d heard awe-inspiring stories about as a young boy. He smoothed his hair nervously, knowing he was about to experience what should have been the proudest moment of his life but instead was going to be the destruction of the best thing he’d ever had.

A heartbeat later, Lucius Malfoy emerged from among the trees and strode towards Draco, opening his arms in a benevolent gesture. “My son,” he said, smiling, and wrapped his arms around him. Draco was momentarily stunned as Lucius was never one for public displays of affection, but he quickly recovered, hugging his father back tightly as he realized there must be several pairs of eyes on them. After several long moments, Lucius pulled back, grasping Draco by the shoulders. “Tonight is the fulfillment of what you were raised to do. Tonight you will take your rightful place by my side as the Malfoy heir. Are you ready to meet your destiny, my son?”

For a fleeting moment, Draco thought of simply Disapparating, going into hiding, stealing into the castle one night to collect Potter so they might be happy together in secret. But in the next moment he realized the absurdity of this fantasy, and instead met his father’s eyes with firm resolve. “I’m ready, father.”

“Good. Then let it begin.” As cloaked, masked figures emerged from the trees all around them, Lucius leaned close to Draco and whispered so only he could hear. “You know what to expect. Do not show fear, though it may threaten to overwhelm you. The pain is merely a trifle compared to the power that awaits. I know you will make me proud.” He stepped back, donning his mask, and took his place in the circle that had formed around them, leaving Draco standing alone in the center. One hole remained in the circle directly in front of him, to his father’s left, and Draco knew who would be occupying that space. For a moment, there was no movement. Then suddenly, a figure came into view from behind the trees, and every back in the circle bent low in a bow.

Draco dropped to his knees, head bowed as he knew was expected of him, and hoped no one could hear the furious pounding of his heart. He barely managed to suppress his shudder as the figure stepped into the empty spot in the circle and began to speak in a cold, high-pitched voice. “At last, young Malfoy, you join us here. Rise.” He got to his feet as quickly as he could without seeming clumsy, keeping his head lowered. “Look at me, young Malfoy.”

Draco focused all his energy on clearing his thoughts, knowing that if the Dark Lord found anything but hatred for Potter there he would use Draco against him, and Draco would rather have died than endure that. Gray eyes rose to meet red and Draco had to use every ounce of his self-control to keep a neutral expression. The Dark Lord smirked, if that was possible. “Ah, yes. The spitting image of his father, I see. Same polished demeanor, same confident look in his eyes. You’ve done well, Lucius.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Draco’s father replied from behind his mask.

“Now, let us see if your fortitude is equally developed,” the Dark Lord hissed, and suddenly all Draco knew was pain. Back-wrenching, heart-stopping pain seemed to tear apart his body and he collapsed, screaming, to the ground.

~

Harry looked at his watch and saw that it was half eleven. He drew his legs up underneath him, tired but not wanting to go to bed, and couldn’t prevent the smile from spreading across his face as he stared into the common room fire. For weeks he’d wondered if Draco wanted him as much as he’d grown to want Draco, and that evening his suspicions had been confirmed. He’d felt the desperation in the way Draco kissed him; he’d seen the naked desire in Draco’s eyes as Harry filled him. He knew now that the need he felt was most definitely not one-sided. If Ron hadn’t borrowed the Marauder’s Map that night for “rounds” with Hermione, Harry would have located Draco on it and found a way to get to him, wherever he was.

He wondered what Draco was doing at that moment. Was he sleeping? If he was sleeping, was he dreaming? If he was dreaming, was he dreaming of Harry and the way he made him go mad with desire? Or was he awake, thinking of Harry, perhaps sitting in front of the fire in his own common room the way Harry was? Harry still remembered where the Slytherin common room was from when he’d been there his second year, but he hesitated to go down there for fear that even if he were to somehow get in, Draco wouldn’t be in the common room. Worse, someone else might be hanging about, and how would he explain being there? Then there was the small part of Harry that was nagging at him, making him afraid that if he were to go, and Draco was in the common room alone, he would only laugh at Harry and tell him to bugger off.

When Harry felt the lump forming in his throat at that thought, he realized just how profound his feelings for Draco were. How in the hell did this happen? he thought, mystified at his own powerful reaction to the thought that Draco might reject him. How did I go from hating Malfoy’s guts to wanting him so badly I ache? He withdrew his legs from underneath him, plopping his feet to the floor, and rested his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. It suddenly hit Harry how vulnerable he was. To need someone so much – the someone who was supposed to be his archrival, no less – was to make himself an easy target, especially if it turned out that Draco had been having him on since the beginning. But there was nothing to be done about it now. Harry had fallen, and the chips would fall where they may.

~

Draco flexed his fingers, examining the Mark on his forearm. Inwardly, he was in agony, but on the surface, he was putting on the performance of his life. Grinning wickedly, he ignored the shadows of pain from three bouts of Crucio and met his father’s eyes, who stood before him with a look of utter pride on his face. The Dark Lord and the rest of the Death Eaters had just departed, but not before one of them spoke to him, in a voice he was sure belonged to his aunt Bellatrix, to tell him how proud she was. Lucius glanced at his pocket watch, slipping it back into his robes as he put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “You know what to do, son. See Professor Snape if you have any issues that need dealing with, and owl me immediately if you have any progress to report.”

“I will, father. I won’t let you down.” Draco looked up at his father, loyalty and eagerness in his face but despair and self-hatred in his heart. There was no going back now. He knew what he had to do, and he knew what would happen if he failed.

“I know you won’t, Draco. You’re a Malfoy.” Those were the last words Draco heard from his father before the pull behind the navel came again and he was stumbling into his room, falling over onto his back on the bed. He lay there like that for several minutes, half on the bed with his legs hanging over, his right hand tightly gripping his left forearm, tears pricking at his eyes.

~

Two hours after Draco strides out, slamming the door behind him, Harry is still in the empty classroom, sitting with his back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. He doesn’t remember crawling over to lean back against the wall. He doesn’t remember fighting so hard not to cry that his fingernails have made marks in his palms from where he’s held his hands in tight fists. He only knows that he hurts so much he can hardly breathe, and he hasn’t any idea how he’s going to make that pain go away. The biggest show of vulnerability leads to the most agonizing kind of betrayal, and Harry wishes he could hate Draco enough to kill him.

He manages to make his way back to Gryffindor, slipping quietly into the dorm so as not to wake the other boys. He lays awake the rest of the night, the image of the Dark Mark on Draco’s arm burned into his brain.


	4. Polyjuice Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Death Eaters and Voldemort are planning their final move, with Draco's help. But Draco can't quite let go of what he's found.

It’s been four months since Draco showed Potter the Mark, and Draco feels as though his sanity is slowly slipping away from him. Every morning he convinces himself it’ll be easier to see Potter this time; it’ll be easier to pass him by and act as though he doesn’t exist. Then he steps into the Great Hall for breakfast and sees Potter sitting at the Gryffindor table, trying his hardest to look as though he’s having a grand time, and Draco feels himself crack just a bit more.

When you want something you’ve been denied, you tend to develop a sort of obsession for it, and this is what is beginning to happen to Draco. He begins to memorise Potter’s schedule, learning his routine so he knows where Potter is at any given moment. He starts to become insanely jealous anytime he sees Potter being overly friendly with anyone, male or female, and when he enters The Three Broomsticks one weekend to find Potter deep in conversation with Seamus Finnigan, he has an irrational urge to yank Finnigan out of his chair and pummel him. Instead, he does what he knows he must, and walks past their table without so much as a sideways glance.

One evening at dinner, Draco is purposely avoiding looking across the Great Hall at the Gryffindor table when an eagle owl flies over, dropping a note into his hand. He opens it to find two sentences in his father’s handwriting.

_It happens tomorrow. You know what to do._

Tomorrow is the last day of term—the last day at Hogwarts for Draco and the rest of the seventh years—and he has been expecting this letter for days. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters have been planning a surprise attack on Hogwarts for months, with Draco as their “inside man” getting any info he can and recruiting other Slytherin to help the Dark Lord’s cause in the battle. Draco’s done everything he can to help while making sure to keep Potter well out of it, and while he knows he should refuse and accept death rather than continue to help the Dark Lord’s side, he doesn’t know how to get out of the hole he’s dug himself into.

Draco pockets the note and happens to glance up at the doors to the hall just in time to see Potter walk out alone. He catches a glimpse of his face as he walks out—worn and sorrowful now that he thinks no one is watching—and Draco’s resolve crumbles. He waits a beat, then stands, feigning a headache, and heads out of the Great Hall just as Potter rounds a corner at the first floor landing. Draco takes the stairs two at a time, not caring who sees him displaying behaviour quite unbecoming a Malfoy, and sprints down the hall after Potter, skidding to a stop when he’s within ten paces. “Potter!”

Potter comes to a sudden halt, frozen for a moment, then slowly turns, eyeing Draco with a look that’s part incredulity, part anguish. He stares, unable to speak at first, then manages to croak out a sentence. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

The pain in his voice is like a knife in Draco’s gut. He winces, fleetingly, then plunges ahead, knowing he’s about to make what might be the biggest mistake of his life but completely sure he’ll be unable to draw another breath if he doesn’t say it. “I can’t—It was a mistake. I miss you. I need you. I—I can’t go on like this. I can’t go on if I can’t have you.”

Harry starts visibly, his hands beginning to shake. He clenches them into fists and sets his jaw, determined not to let Draco see just how hard his words have hit him. “Right. And how am I supposed to believe that? How do I know you’re not just having me on? How do I know you weren’t just fucking me around all that time? How can I trust you, Malfoy?”

Draco hangs his head, eyes closing, and he wishes someone would come along and just Avada Kedavra him for what he’s done to Potter. He takes a deep breath and looks up at him again, raking a hand through his hair, desperate to make him know he’s telling the absolute truth.

“Look, you have every right to turn around right now and never so much as look at me again. I acknowledge that. I know it must seem like everything I did was just for a lark. All I can do is look you in the eye and tell you that _it wasn’t_. Yes, that was my intention at the start, but once I had you, it changed. The whole fucking plan got turned on its head. I’ve never needed anyone in my whole sodding life, but I do need you, and I can’t deny that any longer. I hated the mere mention of your name for seven fucking years, and now you’re like oxygen to me. I can’t explain it, nor will I make the attempt. It’s just what’s happened, and I swear to Merlin if you don’t kiss me right now I’m going to fall apart.” He runs his hand through his hair again, blowing out a breath, and waits nervously for an answer.

Stunned doesn’t even begin to describe Harry’s reaction to Draco’s words. It’s everything he wanted to hear, and yet, as his eyes stray to Draco’s left forearm, it’s also everything he’s been dreading. Unable to comprehend how it’s happened, only knowing that the need to feel Draco is threatening to tear him apart, Harry closes the gap between them in a few strides and crushes his lips to Draco’s in a desperate kiss. Draco responds without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Harry and kissing him like a parched man who’s finally gotten water. Their tongues tangle, drinking in each other’s taste, and hands roam, running over every part they can reach.

Realising that they’re standing right in the middle of a corridor where anyone is likely to happen along, Harry reluctantly pulls away, panting. “Maybe we should go – erm –“

Draco smiles that wicked smile Potter’s grown to adore, and takes his hand, entwining their fingers. “Come on.” He leads Potter down the corridor to the spacious broom closet he dragged him into as Anthony Goldstein months ago. Shutting the door behind them and casting locking and Imperturbable charms, Draco turns to Potter and attacks him without preamble. He tugs at Potter’s robes, practically tearing them from his body and flinging them away. Potter is similarly occupied, making quick work of Draco’s robes and uniform. Soon, skin is pressed against skin as Potter kisses his way down Draco’s neck, his tongue darting out at intervals, a thrill coursing through him every time he hears Draco moan.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” Draco whispers, barely loud enough for Potter to hear him.

“So have I,” he answers back, whispering also, straightening to cup Draco’s face with his hands and crushing his lips to Draco’s in another searing kiss. 

The feel of Potter’s lips is heaven and hell, and Draco mentally resolves to make this a night Potter will never forget. He kneels slowly, kissing Potter’s soft skin as he goes, and quickly divests him of his y-fronts, nearly growling as his own cock springs to life at the sight of Potter’s erection. He looks up at Potter, meeting his eyes, and in one swift move takes him almost completely into his mouth. Potter’s eyes fly shut and he can’t stop his hips from bucking as Draco runs his tongue along his length, lips sliding up and down and _oh fucking hell so good_. As Potter digs a hand into Draco’s shoulder, almost to the point of coming, Draco pulls away slowly, making Potter’s eyes pop open at the loss of warmth.

“Don’t worry, Potter—I’ve got much more in store for you,” he drawls, rising gracefully and running a hand through Potter’s hair to cup the back of his neck, drawing him in for a slow, deep kiss. Shedding his own pants, he looks around for a moment, then transfigures a bookshelf into a small table and looks over at Potter. Potter hops up on the table, grinning, and Draco almost winces at the trust in his eyes.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he instructs, and Potter immediately complies moments before feeling that familiar slickness tease his opening. He gasps aloud as Draco slowly slides in one finger, then two, bending them slightly to hit just the right spot. Potter wraps his arms around Draco’s shoulders, clawing at his back, and Draco leans in to whisper familiar words in his ear, lips lightly tickling.

“Brace yourself.” 

He begins to ease inside, just a little, and sensing a familiar game, Potter grins wickedly and lifts his hips, burying Draco inside him with one swift movement. Draco nearly collapses at the intensity of sensation, the feel of Potter surrounding him making him slightly light-headed. He begins to thrust, slowly, leisurely, leaning in to press his lips to Potter’s. The ache of loss is replaced by the sweet torture of ecstasy as they both crescendo together, flying towards the inevitable leap over the brink of pleasure. Draco moans into Potter’s mouth as he comes violently, gripping Potter’s hips hard enough to create bruises. Potter releases moments later, his hands threading through Draco’s hair, arching against him.

Draco rests his forehead against Potter’s, eyes closed, breathing hard. “Fuck.”

“That about covers it,” Harry gasps, trailing a finger down Draco’s cheek. The feel of Draco back, in his arms, inside him, has him reeling. He’s not sure what to think, or what will happen next, but he knows that right now he’s the happiest he’s been in months and he hopes with all his might that it will last this time.

Draco withdraws reluctantly, cleaning them up with a wave of his wand, and Summons their clothes from their various locations in the room. Neither of them can hide the goofy smile as they dress, and Draco knows he’d be the laughingstock of his housemates if they could see him right now. 

Another leisurely kiss, and they part ways, going in opposite directions, Harry elated and Draco crushed. He reaches his quarters and flops onto the bed, lamenting that the best night of his life has to be followed by the absolute worst. But there’s nothing to be done about it—he’s made his bed, and now…Suddenly, Draco sits up so fast he gets dizzy. _That’s it! Why didn’t I think of him before? He’s got to know a way!_ He jumps up and flies out the door, suddenly exactly sure what he has to do.

~

It is the next morning, and the front lawn of Hogwarts is a battle zone. Curses are flying everywhere, flashes of green and red light scattered among the dueling figures. Harry is dispatching as many Death Eaters as he can, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief every time he catches sight of a bushy head of hair, or a red one. He hasn’t seen Draco since the fight broke out, and he wonders which side he is fighting on. Voldemort is dead by Harry’s hand, and the remaining loyal Death Eaters are trying to take down as many of the Order as they can in a final desperate act of revenge. Diving out of the way of a Crucio, Harry rolls and jumps to his feet only to find himself face to face with Lucius Malfoy.

“Well well well, if it isn’t Potter. We meet again. Pity it won’t be for long this time.” The spells begin to fly and Harry blocks them as best he can, sending back everything he’s got. He is knocked down by a hex from Lucius, and as he stands he can see a look come over the elder Malfoy’s eyes and he knows what is coming next.

Suddenly, he hears a shout. “HARRY!!! LOOK OUT!” Harry turns just in time to see Draco running at him full tilt, and he crashes into Harry, knocking him flat on his back, his head slamming painfully into the ground. Green light flashes, and Harry hears a scream before darkness overcomes him.

He wakes to find himself in a soft, warm bed, and a healer hovering over him with a hand on his forehead. She smiles softly. “Mr Potter. I see you’ve finally decided to rejoin us here in the land of the living.”

Harry blinks, reaching for his glasses, which she hands him. “How did I get here? What happened? Where’s…” Green light flashes in his memory, and he begins to panic. “_Where’s Draco?_”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione’s voice says, and he whips his head around to see her sitting in a chair next to his bed. “Draco, he – well, he jumped in front of a curse aimed at you. The Killing Curse. Harry, he’s…he’s dead.”

A vice tightens around Harry’s chest and he suddenly finds it next to impossible to draw breath. It’s not possible. He can’t be gone. He can’t be dead. Not now, now that it’s over. He covers his face with his hands, shaking, and yells in anguish.

~

It’s been six months since Draco’s death and Harry is still reeling. He can’t understand why something so good could be taken away from him yet again, especially at a time when they truly could have been happy. He finally confided in Ron and Hermione after Draco’s memorial, and while they were understandably shocked at first, they saw the depth of Harry’s emotion and realised just how real it was between him and Draco.

Harry is sitting at his kitchen table, reading an article in the _Prophet_ relating how the Auror department and the DMLE have finally managed to round up all remaining Death Eaters and put them in the newly rebuilt Azkaban. He notes that Lucius Malfoy is among the final few captured and smiles with bitter satisfaction that he’s finally been caught. Turning the page, he hears a knock at the door. Wondering who could be calling on him at this early hour, Harry pads to the door and opens it to find a very shaken Ron. “Ron? What’s wrong?”

Ron’s eyes lift to meet Harry’s, and a very odd look crosses his face before he steps inside wordlessly. Harry shuts the door and locks it, turning to look at Ron, and before he can say anything Ron has enveloped him in a crushing hug. Harry hesitates only a moment before embracing him back, now truly concerned. “What’s happened? Is everything all right? Is Hermione okay?” Then Ron speaks, and Harry freezes. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he says in a low drawl, and suddenly Harry is very aware that this is either the cruelest joke anyone’s ever played on him or the best thing that possibly could have happened. Their arms are still wrapped tightly around each other when the change happens, and Harry pulls away slightly only to have his heart stop at the sight of the blonde man standing before him. His eyes fill with tears as he struggles for words, utterly confused and overjoyed at the same time.

“How did you – what did you - _Draco?_”

“Hello, Harry,” Draco says softly, tears of his own trickling down his cheeks. “It was Dumbledore – I went to him at the eleventh hour and he came up with a plan – an experimental charm that shields the recipient from the Killing Curse. It was risky, but it was worth it. It was worth it because it meant saving you.” He reaches a hand up to softly cup Harry’s cheek, praying silently that Harry will understand why he had to do this.

Harry is stunned, taking a moment to process what Draco’s just told him. Part of him wants to be furious that Draco took that chance, that he let Harry think he was dead all that time, but he understands that it’s what had to be done. And suddenly he knows that all that matters is Draco is here, now, standing in front of him, and he’s not going anywhere.

“Thank bloody Merlin,” he breathes, before pulling him close and pressing their lips together in a grateful kiss.


	5. Polyjuice Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very brief glimpse at the most unlikely couple, five years after one of them came back from the dead.

"Thank bloody Merlin."

Harry Potter had spoken those words five years ago, and he still had that jolt of relief and gratitude and I'd better not fucking lose you again every time he thought on it. He'd feel a moment of panic in which he'd be absolutely terrified the happiness he'd finally come to realise in the most unexpected of places would suddenly be taken away from him, for good this time, and he'd be alone, the cruel joke he'd been suspicious of five years before finally coming to fruition.

Yet somehow, every time he had that moment of panic, Draco would somehow know it, perhaps just from more than five years of learning and experiencing Harry. He'd memorised every look, studied every curve and angle. He knew, when Harry got that look, that it was time to remind him Draco wasn't about to go anywhere. It didn’t take much – arms wrapping around Harry from behind, lips gently pressing to the back of his neck, and when he started to protest, a whispered voice saying Shut up, Potter, and strip. Then their clothes would fly and their mouths would be crushed together and their hands would be roaming everywhere. The feel of skin pressed against skin and tongues invading mouths would drive them both to the brink of insanity, right up to the point where Draco finally slid inside Harry, making them both groan with the unbelieveably sweet torture. And then Harry would remember he didn't need to fear the cruel joke any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it all the way through, thanks for reading!


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